


Snowy, Please

by madameofmusic



Series: Tumblr Fic [8]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-31
Updated: 2016-12-31
Packaged: 2018-09-13 21:30:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9143050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madameofmusic/pseuds/madameofmusic
Summary: Snowy has a huge crush on the new trainer. So what if he's getting injured more than normal? That has nothing to with the trainer in question, at all.





	

**Author's Note:**

> From [here](https://ronanlynchisneversleepingagain.tumblr.com/post/155226698473/im-gonna-back-up-my-own-snarky-comments-and). Not quite the prompt, but close enough.

Nick Snow is not a lucky man. “I’m start thinking that you be doing this on purpose.” Tater says, arm looped around Snowy’s shoulder. “Thinking that maybe you just like trainer’s room more than ice, yes?”

Snowy snorts, wipes blood away from his nose, and glares at Tater. “Fuck you, I wasn’t the one who _punched me-_ ”

Tater laughs. “Sorry, I didn’t mean it. Your face is just same level at my fists, and I was excited.” He stops in front of the trainer’s room. “Here we are. Go fix your face.”

Snowy frowns. “Shouldn’t we be talking to a medic?”

Tater shrugs. “Out today.”

Snowy sighs. “Fine.” He _hates_ the trainer. The old guy’s been with the Falcs since their first year, and he’s not gentle at all. Snowy avoids him at all costs.

Tater sets him on the table, and leaves. Snowy waits for a second, before he hears a voice. “Nick Snow?”

Snowy turns, wipes more blood off his nose, and frowns. “You’re not Calvin.”

The trainer laughs, and his smile makes Snowy’s pulse pick up. _Oh no_ , he thinks, eyes widening. “I’m not. Calvin retired last week. Today’s my first day.”

Snowy sniffs, wishes he wasn’t covered in blood from Tater’s stray fist catching him right after taking his helmet off. “Oh.”

“I’m James.” The trainer sticks out his hand. Snowy holds up his palms, showing the guy the blood that’s coating them from trying to stop his bleeding nose. “Right. So what happened?"

“Tater punched me.” James arches an eyebrow at the word Tater. “Alexei, sorry.”

“Why?” James turns, grabs a medkit from the wall, and sets it on the table next to Snowy.

“Because he’s a fucking _goon_ who doesn’t know where his own limbs are.”

James is grinning at Snowy, and Snowy wishes even more that he was blood-free, and also not disgusting from practice. “I see. Well, it doesn’t look broken.” Snowy watches his fingers roll a couple pieces of gauze into cylinders. “I’m gonna put these in your nose, and work on cleaning you up.”

Snowy nods, tilts his chin and tries not to wince at the feeling of the gauze being shoved into his nostrils. He stays silent as James wets a cloth, and begins cleaning him off. “Did you work anywhere before?” Snowy is curious to say the least. The guy looks about the same age as Snowy himself, maybe closer to his late twenties, but carries himself with ease, like he’s been doing this for a while.

“Worked with a couple minor league teams. The San Diego Gulls, mostly, and the WBS Penguins.” James wipes across the bridge of Snowy’s nose from where he’d smeared blood upwards. Snowy winces. “Sorry.”

Snowy shrugs. “No worries.” His voice is all nasally, and this is definitely not the best possible way he could have met an attractive guy for the first time. Slightly better than the time he showed up to a date covered in mud and dripping water onto the carpet of some fancy french restaurant, twenty minutes late, but just barely. “So-”

“You’re all good.” James says at the same time, tossing the rag into a nearby trashcan. “Don’t take those out for about a half an hour, and come back if they keep bleeding.” Snowy nods, and stands.

“Thanks.”

James is snapping the medkit closed, and nods. “It’s my job. Don’t worry about it.”

Snowy leaves with a nose full of medical gauze, a bit blood-splattered, and with a full-blown crush on a guy who just had to shove said gauze into his nose. He groans to himself, trudging back to the rink, already planning the next time he’d have to go to the trainer’s room.

* * *

He doesn’t _mean_ to pinch a nerve in his shoulder. He was just trying to block as many shots as fast as he possibly could, and then all of a sudden his shoulder was _burning_ , and he was having trouble breathing through the pain. He’d bet Thirdy he could block twenty shots in twenty seconds, except the center had decided to invite Marty to help him shoot, and he’d twisted his arm just wrong enough to set it on fire.

“Snow?” Snowy looks up, teeth gritted, into James’ face. “On a scale from one to ten-”

“Four.” Snowy interrupts, uncurling his hand from where he’d balled it into a tight fist around his jersey. “I’m fine.”

“Bullshit.” James says, and gestures to Thirdy to come help Snow up. “Come on.”

Snowy follows obediently, half because he’s embarrassed, and half because he’s in too much pain to put up that much of a fight. Besides, they had a game the following day, and if he wasn’t tip-top, Coach would throw in _Bart,_ the smuggest goddamn second-stringer he’d ever met, and Snowy fucking _hated_ that guy.

James lays him down on the table, and begins asking him questions as he prods at Snowy’s shoulder. “I’m fine, I’m fine, it’s just a pinched nerve.”

James glares at him. “Shut up, Snow.”

Snowy shuts up, lets James work to loosen the nerve, and grits his teeth, white-knuckling the edge of the table as the pain recedes bit by bit. “I’m fine, really.” He says again, a half an hour later, when the pain has dulled to a warm throbbing sensation.

James arches an eyebrow. “Really?”

Snowy nods. “Yeah.”

James folds his arms across his chest, and settles his eyes on Snowy’s. He considers him, before turning away. “Ibuprofen. And don’t sleep on that shoulder tonight. On your back, only.”

Snowy sighs. “Fine.”

James helps him sit up, and squeezes Snowy’s arm. “Don’t do that again.” He looks _worried_ , and Snowy is both amused by the idea that a man who deals with injured hockey players all day could be worried about any _one_ in specific, and a little guilty he made him feel that way at all.

“Okay.”

“Get out of my room, Snow.” Snowy laughs, and leaves James to his work.

* * *

The next time is not quite an accident. Neither is the time after that.

Snowy was given the award for most improved actor in his middle school drama class for a _reason_ , thanks.

The next time though? That was in no way, whatsoever, Snowy’s fault.

“I’m doing this for your good.” Alexei says, looming over Snowy as the goalie is in the process of stretching.

“Wha-” before he can finish, Tater lands a solid hit to Snowy’s side, one that makes him immediately bend over and start wheezing. Snowy knows there’s no damage done, but god _damn_ does it hurt. “Tater what the fuck-” He looks up at Tater, but the defenseman’s already across the rink, talking to the coach and gesturing concernedly at Snowy.

Tater skates back over a few moments later, and loops one large arm around Snowy’s waist, hoisting him until he’s straight up, and then begins dragging him over to the locker room entrance. “I tell coach you hit side on bar, make wind knock out of you. Come on, before he realise.”

Snowy is… confused, and a little terrified. He whacks Tater’s arm as soon as he lets go, and glares up at him. “Tater, what the fuck?”

Tater’s grinning, still dragging him, but now towards the trainer’s room. “Hit like that, gonna need some massages. Talk to trainer, yes?”

Snowy sighs, clamps down the fluttery feeling that comes to his stomach. “I’ll be fine, c’mon we have practice-”

Tater stops in front of the door, and turns to Snowy. “Don’t worry. Second-stringer need some help, and you need some time with James.” He leans closer, still grinning. “Don’t make me hit you again. Ask out this time, before your tension drives the locker room nuts. Even Zimmboni noticing how you stare at him. He making me answer weird questions about Snowy that I don’t know answer _to_.”

Snowy flushes, and gapes. “Al-”

Tater shoves him through the door. “Bye, have fun!” He says, before walking back towards the rink entrance.

“Nick?” Snowy turns, and almost stumbles in his skates. “What’s going on?” James looks amused, half-folded towel hanging from his hand as he arches an eyebrow at Snowy.

“I, uh. My side?” He says, waving his hand at his hip. “Hit it?”

James’ lips quirk, but he smothers a grin. “That a question, or an answer.”

“Answer.” Snowy swallows. “Tater- I mean, _I_ hit my side. Can you look at it?”

James nods. “Sure. You know the drill.”

A few minutes later, Snowy is lying shirtless on the exam table, and trying not to think about how the feeling of James’ cool fingers gently prodding at his side is doing.... _thing_ s, to him. Snowy swallows a groan, and huffs a quiet breath of air instead, face pressed as far into the foam of the table as possible. “What’s with the huff?”

Snowy lifts his head, means to say _nothing_ and instead says, “Dinner.”

James’ fingers slow, and he looks confused. “It’s 10am?”

“No I mean-” Snowy huffs again, and presses his face back to the table, resists the urge to roll off the table and underneath it. “Do you want to get dinner with me?”

James stops. “What was that?”

Snowy lifts his head just enough to speak clearly. “Do you want to get dinner with me?”

“Like a date?” Snowy nods. “Sure.”

Snowy rockets up, and twists to face James. “What?”

James’ lips curl into a wide grin. “Sure.”

Snowy can _feel_ himself smiling, but does nothing to stop it. “Cool.”

“Lie back on the table so I can figure out what’s wrong with you.” James says.

Snowy blinks, confused. Wrong with him? He frowns, trying to figure out why he was in here, and then- “Oh. No I’m fine. Tater punched me so I could ask you on a date.”

James tilts his head. “Tater… hit you?”

Snowy nods. “So I could ask you on a date.”

James sighs, pinches the bridge of his nose. “Okay that’s.” He sighs, and then looks Snowy in the eyes. “Tell him to stop punching his teammates. By accident _or_ on purpose.”

Snowy nods. “About dinner-”

“You’re fine then?” James asks.

Snowy nods. “Yes. But dinner-”

James backs away from the table, but smiles. “You have practice. We can talk about this later.”

Snowy hops off, and pulls his shirt back on. “You don’t have my number-”

“I’ll get it.” Snowy frowns, feels like he’s missed something here.

“Okay. Uh-”

James pulls his closer, steps into his space, and lifts a hand to just barely brush Snowy’s jaw. “Tell me this is okay.” Snowy nods so hard he almost whacks James in the face. And then they’re kissing _and-_

“Hah! You owe me $20 bucks, old men!” Snowy jumps backward and falls on to the table. James narrowly avoids falling after him, and they both glare at where Thirdy, Tater and Marty are standing at the door to the trainer’s room. “I told you Snowy like him!”

Marty hands Tater a bill, and grins at Snowy. “Coming back to practice any time soon, sport?”

Snow, furiously red, and sputtering, claps his hands over his face and groans. “I hate you.” He mumbles. “I hate you _so much-”_

James settles a hand on Snowy’s knee. “He’ll be back in just a minute, guys.”

The three exit, Thirdy and Tater arguing about the details of their bet over the chorus of Marty’s laughter. “Please kill me.” Snowy says, sitting up, hands still pressed to his face. “They’re never gonna let this one go.”

James grins, laughs. “Nah, then I wouldn’t get that date.”

Snowy drops his hands, and smiles. “About that-”

James turns away, throws a towel at him. “Go _practice_ , before you get you and me _both_ in trouble.”

Snowy hops off the table, and heads for the door. “I’ll see you later?”

James nods, smiling at Snowy as he’s wiping off the exam table. “Later, Nick.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm no medical professional, but that's how I treat pinched shoulder nerves, so who knows ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> Prompt me [here](http://whiskeytangofrogman.tumblr.com/ask).


End file.
